Chapter 7

Tequila never solved problems, but a few shots of the burning liquid could cause plenty. Keiran sat back on the plush black sofa, tossing back a shot from Garet, shaking his head before the young man could pour him another refill.

This can’t be fucking happening.

In the hours since Lawson’s arrest The Asylum had become eerily quiet, but looking out the windows at the flaming trash cans and blinding headlights showed exactly how much of an impact the events of the night had already had.

How fucked up was it that he found some peace in being trapped here? Only last week he’d been scouring the rental section of the paper for an apartment in the area. While healing, he’d been set up in Garet’s loft, invited to stay once he started work as The Asylum’s cook. The move had happened so fast, he still only had the stuff Jamie and Noah had grabbed for him from his old place in Queens during Jamie’s last shopping trip, while Keiran was still too weak to make the trip himself.

It’s not wrong to want to build a life here. I finally get a chance to do what I love.

But tonight his good fortune left a sour taste in his mouth. He had a bed to sleep in. Some security. A damn good job after everything had seemed so fucking hopeless. Friendships developing when he’d been on the outs of all the social circles he’d been part of for seven years. The Asylum had become the sanctuary for him that it had been built as, and the more he learned about it, the more grateful he was to have a place here.

One of the men who’d helped create this safe haven, who’d welcomed him here, had none of that tonight. His throat tightened as he glanced over at Dallas, who sat by his side on the sofa, holding his head in his hands. The first shot Garet had set before the man remained on the table, but Dallas kept eyeing the bottle as though wondering if chugging the whole thing would numb his pain.

And fuck, the pure agony he’d seen in Dallas’s eyes. The brokeness in Matt’s voice. The desperation in the move Curtis made that could’ve been his last. Completely stunned, Keiran hadn’t been able to budge from the moment the cops had come in, until the cuffs were around Lawson’s wrists.

Lawson, of all people…

Then Dallas had shifted forward and stopping him was all that mattered. No way could Keiran have stood by if the police had turned their attention to him. So what if he hardly knew the man? He liked him, probably more than was smart. Too much to watch him get dragged away over one rash move or...or worse.

He sighed as Garet took another shot. The young man had been trying to drown his emotions from the moment he’d been told the reason for the lockdown. He’d gone back and forth between wanting to go to his brother and deciding it was best to leave him with his friends. Finally, just took out the tequila.

Which he’d regret very much come morning.

Dallas lifted his head, frowning when Garet picked up the bottle again. “You’re underage.”

Tipping back another shot, Garet snorted. “So fucking what?”

Jaw hard, Dallas leaned forward. “You also put in an application to be a member. As a submissive. Keep it up and I’ll make damn sure it doesn’t get through until you’re in your forties.”

“And what the hell gives you that kind of power?”

The tension in the room amplified until Keiran imagined he’d see cracks splintering the air. He put his hand on Dallas’s shoulder, much like he had in the bar. Then caught Garet’s eye. “It won’t do Matt any good to see you hungover tomorrow. I know you’re upset about Lawson too, but take it easy.”

Closing his eyes, Garet nodded slowly. “Yeah, I just… Damn it, I’m sorry, Dallas. I’m used to being on my own. The only person who’s told me what to do…” He stood and rubbed the back of his neck. “Jesus, I better stop before I spill my life story. I’m gonna try to crash. Let me know if you hear anything?”

“I will.” Dallas held the young man’s gaze. “It might...not be a good idea to tell Ez. Not yet.”

Expression shuttered, Garet shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “No worries, he won’t hear it from me.” Quietly crossing the open space to the first of the two bedrooms, Garet slipped into his room and shut the door softly behind him.

Dallas stared after him for a long moment before tearing his gaze away. He lifted his own shot, but only twirled the glass slowly between his fingers. The liquid swirled, mesmerizing. He let out a soft “Fuck.”

“He’ll be all right.” Keiran wasn’t sure keeping the focus on Garet would help, but he needed to do something. He massaged Dallas’s shoulder lightly. “Sometimes he gets a bit moody about not being more involved in The Asylum, but he loves his job. Cleans up after himself too. Best roommate I’ve ever had, and he’s not trying to get in my pants. Total win.”

Shifting, Dallas leaned back so the couch cradled his head and studied him. “I’d start calling you catnip with the way you talk about men not being able to keep their hands off you, but Noah might get worried about letting Jamie into the bar.”

Keiran spat out a laugh. He’d heard the nicknames Noah gave his subs. Fuck, it must be nice to be that special to someone. Maxime had only called him his ‘slut’. Which wasn’t sexy when he’d started to say it with a sneer. He shoved the memory aside and shook his head. “Comes with the territory, I guess. I sell sex. Can’t complain if some want more of what…” He sighed, not ready to deal with Dallas’s reaction to his ‘real’ career choice. “What they see on stage.”

Shot between his fingers, Dallas brought it to his lips and considered him over the rim before sinking the drink. “That must get old. I never wanted to make a hobby into a career. Always figured it’d ruin the fun.”

“Sometimes it does, if you let it.” Keiran glanced at the shot glass he’d left on the table. Lifted it in cheers before tossing it back just so Dallas wasn’t drinking alone. He could hold his liquor, that wasn’t an issue. But he had to keep his wits after tonight. Tomorrow would not be easy. “When I stay on track and keep my eye on the prize, it’s easier to separate work and pleasure, you know? I could’ve gotten any job. I do what I’m good at, the pay’s decent, and I’m not ashamed of it.” Whatever else he’d hold back for now, he had to make that part clear. “I let myself stray a bit, so I’m not as set up as I’d like to be, but working here definitely helps.”

While he’d been talking, Dallas had kicked off his boots and rested his socked feet on the edge of the large, bluestone coffee table. He didn’t look...aroused by the conversation. More like he was glad to have something else to think about. “Do you think it makes you more choosy? Being able to have whoever you want?”

Grinning, Keiran relaxed back into the overstuffed cushions, slipping his hand from Dallas’s shoulder and resting his folded arm above his head, legs tucked on an angle as he faced the other man. “Now it does. I had the role I was expected to play because I don’t fit as a cute little twink. On stage and…” Damn it, stop that. The stage, nothing else. He drew in a slow breath. “I fit the image of a sexy Top who’s not too butch, you know? Guys can still imagine being tough enough to fuck me, but also want me in that dominant role, which never…” His brow furrowed. “It almost...itches, I guess. Feels wrong when I have to pretend to be all take-charge. But it’s a role I have to play.”

“Hm.” Dallas’s smooth forehead creased. “You must work at some high-end joints. The places I’ve been just have cheesy outfits and a place to drop some bills.” He glanced to Keiran. “But I guess having a stage manager directing the performance must have some benefits? Bring in bigger tips? Jamie says he keeps more money from having gone Indie, but the sales aren’t what they were with his band. Is it kind of like that?”

Stripping wasn’t, but if he did porn again? He recalled his conversation with Garet and nodded. “Something like that. It’s a whole different platform. More control, but you don’t have the same support.” Shit. Strippers didn’t work like that, no matter what clubs they worked. He shook his head. “Either way, it’s not my end game. One day, I’m going to have my own restaurant, and I have no problem being in control in the kitchen.” His cheeks heated as he imagined cooking for Dallas and him interrupting some sauce stirring, or while bread was rising, deciding the timer was a challenge. “I mean...when it comes to the actual...food.”